


Devotion (What I Wouldn't Do For You)

by wolfish_willow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Dark, Emotional Manipulations, M/M, Manipulations, Minor Character Death, Murder, POV First Person, Ratings: R, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-28
Updated: 2010-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfish_willow/pseuds/wolfish_willow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a secret he wants to share with Sam. Sam's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion (What I Wouldn't Do For You)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I ever wrote. It's unbeta'd and was inspired by an episode of Criminal Minds. So. Not really happy-go-lucky. Sam's pretty unstable...

Dean is my everything. He keeps me grounded. I know who I am because he tells me. Maybe not in so many words. But he does. I know I hurt him when I left for Stanford. Looking back, I can't believe that I could have been stupid enough to do something like that to the one person who has always been there for me. But as idiotic as I may have been then, I finally know that I will never do it again. I have nothing if Dean isn't in my life, by my side, with me through it all. I would do anything for him.He deserves nothing less after the hell I put him through those four years. Deserves so much more than me and what I can give him. But all I have to offer is myself and so far that has been enough. Anything he asks of me, I do it. Without hesitation. He would do anything for me, so why should I not do the same for him? So I do.

The first time he took from me the only thing I have to offer, I was blown away by how much he seemed to need it. Need me. His lips desperately pressed against mine, sucking them into his mouth, demanding the same ferocity from me. It wasn't hard to give into it. Since I came back on the job with him I've done everything else he needs. Everything he wants. Because he's Dean; he's everything I want, all I need.

So when he needed to take that from me, I gave it gladly. Just as passionately as he wanted me to. And when he instructed me, when he told me where and how to lay, I eagerly obeyed. I need his direction. I need him to tell me what to do. Because I don't know what I am with his guidance. When he tells me not to move under him, it feels like 'let me take care of you'. After teasing me and bringing me to the edge so many times I feel like I'll explode and he tells me I can finally let go, it feels like love. Like 'I love you'.

Since then we've been closer. I do everything he asks me to. During hunts, in our down time, when he needs a release. The fact that I'm the one he goes to for that release is amazing to me. That playing my new part in our relationship, my ability to listen and do what he says, makes him comfortable with me. Comfortable enough to show me something he has never shown anyone. At least, that what he told me when I asked why he drove us from our motel to a warehouse that looks like it has seen better, more active days.

My first thought is that he failed to mention a hunt. Or maybe he had told me about one, but somehow I had missed it. I can't help my nerves getting to me at that thought. The idea that somehow I neglected anything he told me shoots shame through my gut. But then he is parking the Impala outside it and turning to look at me. His eyes shine with excitement, but something else as well. Uncertainty? It seems crazy because he is always so sure of himself. But his eyes are still shining with it as he tells me that there is something about him that I don't know. Something that he thinks I'm ready to see. Ready to accept. I mentally scoff at that because there is nothing he could do to make me not accept him. I want to reassure him of this; I take his hand in mine and wait for his small nod before bringing it to my mouth, brushing my lips lightly over his knuckles.

I feel his gentle tug and release his hand before returning my attention back to the warehouse in front of us. I feel like it's looming over me, and though I am certain that nothing could cause me to turn back on Dean again, I'm still filled with that feels suspiciously like apprehension rising slowly up my spine.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up with me as I untangle myself from the Impala. I try to shake the feeling off as I walk towards the doors. Pressure on my arm halts my movement and I turn to see Dean's fingers curled around it. He cocks him head to the left and releases my arm before heading off in the direction he indicated. I stare after him for a moment before I'm able to force my legs to move me forward.  


He leads me to the side of the building and I see there is an opening large enough for Dean and I to slip through. Now I know that he has been here before. As he leads me inside I try to think of when he would have had the time, when I wasn't with him. Then I remember how he told me to just chill at the motel for a couple hours. Apparently he had something he had to do. I didn't think anything of it. It isn't the first time he's told me to stay at the motel, whether to research or just relax, while he went out to take care of some things. I never really wondered what he was doing in that time because he's stopped coming back smelling like cheap perfume since that first night he kissed me. I just figured he went to a bar to blow off some steam. We need some time apart after spending hours on the road and chasing leads on hunts together. And he's always so attentive and demanding when he gets back from wherever he goes that I can't help but find it invigorating every time.

I'm shaken from my thoughts when he stops in front of a door and turns to face me. I once again see uncertainty in his eyes and I can't stand it. It looks so wrong on his face, so I kiss it away. Nothing will make me leave him. Nothing.

When I pull back from his lips to look at him again, the hesitation from before has been replaced by hunger and want and excitement. I can practically feel it thrumming off him and it's catching. All my apprehension from earlier is faded and I just want to see what he has hidden behind this door.

He steps away from me and turns slowly back to the door. He places his hand to the knob and faces me once more. Wants to be sure I remember. Remember my part. Remember to listen to what he needs, do what he says. As though I would ever forget - forget that I owe him everything, that I could never leave him. No matter what. I nod and grip his shoulder reassuringly before dropping my hand away and allowing him the space to open the door.

I'm not sure what I expect to discover behind that entry, but it certainly isn't what my eyes find. In the middle of the large room Dean leads me into I see a young woman bound to a chair. Gagged. Terrified. I can suddenly hear my heart hammering in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears. My eyes darts between Dean - who looks entirely too calm if he is seeing what I am - and the girl, who seems to be doing the same with my brother and I.

Mine stop finally on Dean's face and confusion overwhelms all my other senses as he stares back at me hopefully. But I don't understand. I don't understand why he brought me here, why there is a girl tied down and looking pleadingly at me and fearfully at Dean, and I really don't understand why we're just standing here and not running to her side and untying her.

I push forward, towards her. Someone needs to do something and she keeps giving me that pleading 'help me' look that I can't just neglect. That is, until I hear Dean behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stick straight up as I turn to face my brother. He can't be serious when he tells me to ignore her. We help people. That's our job. But I always do what Dean says, so I stop in my tracks and give him a look that I hope conveys just how much I don't want to ignore her.

The look he gives me is one I know means I better wait until he tells me what he needs to. One I know means to keep quiet and do what he says. I close my mouth, which has opened to question him, and content myself to just watch as he slowly approaches the girl. 

I follow his movements with my eyes. He looks so steady as he walks up to the small table set behind the girl that had escaped my attention before. Something resting on that table gleams in the lights of the room. I watch as Dean reaches out to pick up what I realize is the shining blade I got for his birthday before my mental lapse - before I left him. It suddenly escapes my notice that he must have a purpose for the knife, all I can think is that he kept the knife I bought for him. Suddenly I can feel a smile on my face, and it must be the reaction he wanted because he is giving me a knowing, approving smile of his own. And I love that I am the one able to make his eyes light up like that.

But I am pushed back into the reality of what is happening in front of me. Dean has stepped beside the bound girl who is now whimpering in fear. Up until now I thought - hoped - that she would turn out to be some shifter, or possessed. Those whimpers she is making sound so human, though, that I find my hopes being trampled down.

Now Dean's eyes are on mine, even as he brings the knife to the girl's throat. She stiffens, but there is no smoke, no sizzle, and my last straw of belief that she is anything other than a human girl is torn away. My own eyes widen as realization hits me. He told me he thought I was ready to see something he has never shown anyone. Something he does when he is alone.

He sees the exact moment when my frazzled mind connects the dots, I know it. That is when he digs the blade into her throat just deep enough to cause a sharp intake of breath, though if I'm honest with myself I can't be sure whether that was her or me, and a thin line of blood to begin trickling down her throat and onto the blade. And I mean to stop his actions, I really do, but there's that look. The one he has when he comes back from doing God knows what - this I tell myself - and it stops me before I even have the chance to move. That girl wont stop crying and whimpering and his eyes wont let up and I can't even tell which way is up anymore. The hairs on the back of my neck seem to want to stick up permanently and I can feel sweat dripping slowly down my back. I just know my clothes are going to be sticking to me soon - my hair is already stuck to the nape of my neck.

My lungs have forgotten how to work. Or maybe my brain has just stopped sending them messages to take in air. I don't even feel the tremors coursing through my body until his hand is on mine, stilling its movement. As I look away from the girl to Dean my breaths start, quick and shallow as panic finally sets in.

The feel of his lips pressing softly against mine and his thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly against my wrist snap me back to the present. I open my eyes, unaware that they had slipped closed as Dean's lips brushed mine, and take one step away from him, but wrap my fingers around the hand he is holding mine with.

That look he was giving me as he cut into her neck has been replaced with one of concern and I don't understand why. I can't make sense of anything that is happening. But he sees the panic before I even start and I hear him telling me to calm down. Stemming down the emotional entropy rising in me, I gulp down a few breaths before nodding. I've never disobeyed him before and I didn't realize just how much I needed his commands until he gave them to me.

Now that my blood is pumping slower, my heart rate decreasing to normal levels, I release my hold on his hand and question him. Because now I'm calm and can voice my confusion. Now he can tell me what the hell he's playing at and why he just cut an innocent girl's throat, why he has her tied up, why he decided to let me in on any of it. I don't even care that I'm screaming at him, because I'm too pissed and confused to remember that I never talk back to him. That he doesn't deserve this crap from me since I abandoned him. That he does everything for me, loves me, gives me the directions that I need and never complains - never mentions those dark years when I was away or how lost and upset they'd made him. I can't get any of that through my head while I scream at him because I'm too angry about him showing me his deep dark secret when I would have been content with never knowing.

He lets me get it all out of my system, doesn't move or react to me or my words or my flailing arms as I rant on and on. It isn't until I stop my tirade and look at him, tears in my eyes and exhausted by the weight of this knowledge that he steps towards me. I feel like I should move, he's got to be upset about my forgetting my part in this. Where I stay quiet and roll with whatever he throws my way. But this is so much more than I can handle.

Apparently I say some of this aloud because he is reassuring me. And he never lies to me, so him telling me that I can handle this, that I will be alright, calms me immensely and I find myself stepping towards him and pulling him against me. I just need to hold him to me for a moment while I get my bearings as I feel like I might just fall if I release him too soon.

He doesn't move away from me, lets me hold him until I take a deep breath and pull away slowly. My eyes rake over his face, down his body and land on his right hand which is still clutching the bloodied blade. I swallow visibly as he lifts it to me, but I don't flinch away like I would if anything or anyone else did the same thing he's doing. He isn't getting ready to stab me, his stance shows me that much, but I don't understand what else he's planning, what's going through his mind.

Before I know it, I'm holding the cold weight of the blade in my hand. I feel the heavy burden of it crushing against my shoulders as my eyes move from my hand to Dean's face. I really hope I'm misinterpreting his intentions because I'm not even sure how I'm standing upright right now. But as I search his face, I know that my suspicions are correct.

Shaking my head I try to give him the knife back. When he refuses to take it I go so far as to grab his hand and try to pry his fist open. He takes his hand back easily, my fingers are shaking too violently to be able to keep my grip on him - I don't even know how the knife stays in my grasp. He steps back from me, his eyes sweeping up and down my person.

That's when I realize just how horrible I'm being. I'm shaking all over and barely remaining vertical. No wonder he's disappointed, second guessing why he thought I of all people he could share this with - when I can barely keep myself together after seeing a little blood. I've seen more gore, more devastating images in past hunts. Most of it even human. Why am I shying away from it now? Maybe I don't want to hurt this girl, but not doing it would hurt him. This is something Dean wants to share with me. He's given me so much, been so much to me. Why can't I do this for him?

I turn away from Dean and shake my body; from head and shoulders to legs and feet. My lungs fill with much appreciated oxygen three times as I force myself to take deep calming breaths before I turn to once more face my brother. He's always done everything for me - I can do this for him. And I will.

The amount of time it takes for me to cross the room is the longest length of time my eyes are off Dean. When I reach the girl, knife clenched firm in my hand, I stand behind her to have the option of keeping him in view. Just because I'm willing to do this for him doesn't mean I want to watch my handiwork. I steal myself for what I'm about to do, close my eyes and breathe deep as I lift the blade slowly from my side, where my arm had been resting.

Even though I keep telling myself to keep my eyes on my brother I can't help but look down at the young woman before me. Her muffled whimpers and cries are pushing their way through the haze of white noise ringing in my ears. Her blond hair is greasy and dark from sweating out all her fears. Her cheeks are a mess, eyeliner smears with each of her tears. I can see now that I'm looking at her that her shoulders are shaking with the force of her sobs, which are thankfully muffled slightly by the cloth gagging her.

She's looking at me now and I can't help but swallow audibly. I can feel Dean's eyes on my adam's apple as it bobs up and down. Her eyes are pleading with me and I have to tear me gaze away once more before I lose my nerve.

As though he can sense the struggle I'm going through, which isn't all that hard to believe, Dean starts giving me instructions. But more than that, he's using that tone of voice he does when we're together, in bed, just the two of us. His words filter past everything else and I feel calm descending over my body. Her sounds, while still there, are not as distracting because Dean is using that voice and telling me what to do and I feel like I can finally give my brother something else. I've always only ever had myself to offer, and isn't this just another part of that?

Following his instructions, I lift the blade and rest it gently against her throat; right above the cut Dean made earlier. I breathe in deeply once more before sliding the knife against the skin beneath it, applying more pressure as it gradually slices across. I exhale as the tip of the blade leaves her skin and I look at the fresh blood coating the blade and trickling down her neck. My eyes follow the flow from her neck as it falls down to pool slightly at her collarbone.

Licking my suddenly dry lips I let the tip of the blade follow the line of blood and dig into the hollow above her collarbone with just enough pressure for her to feel it and I can feel her shivering beneath it. My left hand moves, as if of its own accord, to rest against the thin fabric of her shirt. My fingers lightly caress the nape of her neck through her hair and move slowly down, tracing small circles between her shoulder blades. The longer I let it linger against her, the more violent her trembling becomes but I can't move my hand away. It's like I can feel her life crackling beneath my fingertips and I have the sudden need to feel every shift her body makes with each slice of my blade.

My strokes against her become surer, drawing more blood with each slice. Her whimpers have morphed into muffled screams as I dig deeper into the flesh of her upper arm. They aren't very loud through the cloth, but I can feel the vibrations through her back and a jolt jumps through my bones. My skin feels like it's tingling with each of her screams and it is only now that I realize I haven't looked at Dean once since I began. That is also when I notice he is no longer talking, hasn't been for some time. The only sounds coming from him are quick, shallow pants through parted lips. I look up to find his eyes hooded and pupils blown with desire. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, as though fighting the desire to relieve the pressure that seems to be building. Taking in his aroused form I can feel my own need beginning to pool deep inside.

I breathe in through my nose to calm myself and my senses are filled with the scent of her blood, I can taste it heavy on my tongue and that helps to dampen the desire that had begun rising inside me. Swallowing, I raise the knife away from her chest where I was carving it with the tip, and my attention is once again focused on the fingers resting against her back. There are no more screaming vibrations, not even whimpers escape from her now. But I can feel the tremors shaking her. The blood loss is affecting her body and I feel less of a rush in the small touch than I did just moments before.

Her life is slipping gradually away and I slowly look back to Dean. I'm ready to either leave her here now or finish this but I need his approval before I can take any action. He still looks just as turned on as before until our eyes lock and he knows what I want to do. His eyes widen slightly and he nods at me. That is all the permission I need before dragging the blade one last time completely across her throat. I step to the side and turn away from Dean as I stand in front of the girl. I don't know her name, whether she lives around here, if she has a family out of their minds with worry - but as I turn back to look at my brother I can't bring myself to care.

I transfer the knife to my left hand as I walk back to Dean and hold it out for him to collect. As he takes it, he allows his fingers to brush slowly against mine before pulling them back and leading the way out of the warehouse. I don't even spare the girl one last glance as I follow him.

The next thing I know, we're in our motel room and Dean is kissing me up against the door. I don't remember the car ride back, I don't even remember getting back into the Impala, but I don't care because Dean is kissing me unlike he ever has before. It's slow and languid, loving, caressing my tongue with his. His hands are roaming over my body, gently rubbing my sides and sliding up to curl in my hair and I moan as I raise to cup his head in my hands.

My eyes open slowly when he pulls off of my lips only to rub his cheek against my right hand - I can't help but think of a cat - and runs his tongue gently from the palm to the mountains below the base of my fingers, placing a sucking kiss to them before grabbing hold of my wrist. He tugs me softly toward the bed and once we are both lying facing each other, he lifts my hand to his mouth once again. It isn't until I feel his tongue sliding lazily across my fingers that I dart my eyes to his mouth and my hand. The blood from the girl is everywhere except the areas where Dean has cleaned it off.

Before I can react to that sight he is kissing me and I can taste the blood in his mouth, along with the taste that is completely him. I surprise myself when I don't find it unpleasant, even more when a low moan escapes from the back of my throat only to be swallowed up in Dean's mouth. He pulls back one more time and adjusts so that I am on my back, with his body covering my own. My eyes look into his and I see the lust, the need in them. But behind that, I see gratitude - and wonder, oddly enough - and most important of all to me, love. Then he's kissing me again and my last coherent thought before losing myself in the sensations is that I could definitely get used to this.  


  
 

~END~ 


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